Jennifer Lewis - The Desert Prince / The Playboy's Proposition - The Desert Prince / The Playboy's Proposition

Which was fine, because she felt enough for both of them. Sheer terror raced along her nerves at what still hung unspoken between them.

You don’t have to tell him.

Her friends thought she was crazy to come here. They’d begged her to keep her distance and her secret.

Those sharp black eyes fixed on hers again. “I’ll need to take you out to the site.”

“Of course.” She pulled her PDA out of her pocket, trying not to think about being all alone with him, way out in the middle of nowhere. “That would be great. When would you like to go? I’m an early riser and I …”

“Right now.” He rose from the chair as if ready to head for his car.

Not a question. A statement of fact. Apparently Salim Al Mansur was used to issuing orders and he expected her to jump.

“But it’s afternoon. Won’t the desert be awfully hot right now?” Couldn’t she at least unpack and change? She was tired and disoriented. She’d come right here from the airport without even stopping to drop her bags off in her room at the hotel.

Though technically she was in the hotel right now. Salim owned it, part of his string of luxury resorts in the Gulf region. This office was his on-site throne room.

His eyes narrowed as he stared at her. For the first time the slightest flicker of humor seemed to glimmer in their lightless depths. “The desert is hot. It is in its nature.”

She gulped. “You’re right, of course.” She forced a thin smile. “Might as well face things head-on.”

She blanched.

The elephant in the room lumbered silently.

Had he summoned her here because he’d somehow learned the truth?

Salim strode toward his car. The desire to move—anywhere—surged through his limbs on a wave of thoughts and sensations.

He’d hoped that memories had deceived him, but unfortunately Celia Davidson was even more beautiful than he remembered. Although she’d come straight off a long flight, her skin glowed and her eyes shone blue as the Bahr al-Arab in the afternoon sun.

He dismissed the driver and pulled open the passenger door for Celia. His eyes strayed as she climbed in, and her boxy beige suit couldn’t hide the lithe and shapely body he’d held in his arms.

Some memories were a curse that haunted you through all eternity.

“Buckle your seat belt.” He started the ignition and pulled out of the hotel parking lot, leaving the sparkling oasis he’d created for the grittier and dustier world outside.

Celia belonged to that world, and he’d do well to remember it.

Funny how she still wore her golden hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, like the college student he remembered. She’d never been one to fuss over her appearance and he’d admired that at the time. Now it irked him that she glowed more than women who spent all day preening.

“Is it a long drive?” She stared straight ahead. Avoiding his glance, perhaps.

“That depends on what you’re used to. Here in Oman almost everywhere is a long drive. Have you been to our country before?”

“No, never.”

“You always said you wanted to come.”

He watched as she turned, startled. She hadn’t expected him to bring up the past.

“And I meant it.” Her steady blue gaze stabbed him with accusation. Reminding him she’d expected so much more of him than he’d been able to give. She tore her eyes away with visible effort. “But that was a long time ago.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d be interested in this job.” He shot a sideways glance. “I think I expected you to refuse.”

He watched her neck lengthen. “Because of our history together?”

A moment of weakness had led him to her bed again after all those years apart. He’d been shocked at seeing her in the unfamiliar circumstances of a hoteliers’ conference looking just as she had when they were in college together.

They’d been so young and innocent.

So foolish.

Celia had been deadly silent when he’d made it clear their renewed liaison had no future. She was a woman of reason. Surely she wouldn’t expect a man in his position to continue an affair that could never end in marriage?

He glanced sideways at her, taking in the unchanged elegance of her profile. “I expected you to refuse because of the challenging nature of the project. I imagine most sensible landscape architects would laugh in my face.”

Their encounter four years earlier was at a Manhattan conference on hotel design, so he knew she was in the landscape field. Still, he’d been surprised when his assistant had brought him her portfolio to consider as the landscape architect for this project.

The odd coincidence had presented an opportunity to face the past head-on—and push it from his mind forever.

“I enjoy taking on challenging projects.” She sounded defensive, but he wasn’t sure why. “And the location is a new one for me.”

“You must travel a lot.” He guided the car out of the hotel’s palm-lined drive and onto the road.

“Yes. Manhattan is my home base work-wise. I live nearby in Connecticut, but I’m on the road two weeks out of most months.”

Curiosity clawed at Salim. Or was it jealousy? “Your boyfriend doesn’t mind you being away so much?”

She blinked. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” She tucked a strand of escaped blond hair nervously behind her ear.

“I’m sorry.” Relief crept through his chest.

“Why should you be sorry? My life is very full.” She stared straight ahead, jaw stiff as she uttered the words.

Why had he offered a condolence? She’d told him four years ago that she’d never married. Perhaps he felt guilty that he’d ruined her for all other men?

No doubt he gave himself too much credit.

But he’d never forgotten her. In fact, he blamed her for the demise of his first marriage, though she’d been at least three thousand miles away the entire time.

Their whirlwind romance at the conference had only deepened her infuriating hold over him. How could he take a suitable wife and hope for a successful marriage if he was enthralled by another woman?

Banishing Celia Davidson from his heart and mind would obviously be a challenge, but it must be done. The future of the Al Mansur dynasty depended on it.

Salalah’s neat rows of boxy buildings gave way to plantations of palm trees. Celia couldn’t help staring. How did they water this emerald forest of lushness out here in the desert?

“Salalah is naturally fertile. We get more rainfall than the rest of the country.” Salim’s low voice penetrated her scattered thoughts.

“That must come in useful when you’re landscaping your hotels. How many do you have?”

Phew. She’d managed to get the conversation back on a semiprofessional track.

“Twelve, at last count.” He turned the steering wheel with a capable hand.

A big, leather-clad wheel, on what was obviously a very expensive car. Salim Al Mansur could probably buy and sell a few small nations with his pocket change.

“You must have bought quite a few palm trees.”

The side of his mouth nearest her hitched slightly. A smile or a scowl, she couldn’t be sure. “And I’ll buy a few more if fate allows.”

The palm trees receded behind them as the landscape opened up to the kind of bare, brown nothingness she’d expected. Some places were meant to be bare and brown, yet she could rarely persuade her clients of that. They’d rather install thousands of sprinkler heads in a quixotic attempt to create paradise in a place that was never meant to be one.

Celia squinted. Had the sun created a mirage, or was she staring straight ahead at a range of mountains?

“The Fog Mountains.” His low voice interrupted her disbelief. Salim must have noticed her staring.